


Knock Knock...

by Eros94



Category: DC Cinematic Universe, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Breaking and Entering, F/M, Mindfuck, Watching Someone Sleep
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 02:30:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8232985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eros94/pseuds/Eros94
Summary: She's helped the Joker escape from Arkham, but after he disappeared into the shadows she hasn't seen him again... did he forget her?





	1. 0244

     Harleen had never expected things to get this far. She never even thought she’d fall in love with a patient, least of all the Joker himself – but a part inside her knew it had been inevitable. Not even because she knew she was going to be dragged into that… but because it was the lure of fame. Joker’d known that from the start, that Harleen was out for a good story, and his story was, of course, the best of all. The very king of Gotham himself, probably more fascinating than Batman himself.  
     And Harleen was lost the moment he told her he’d reveal his secrets.

     Skip forward: things had gone downhill _fast_. Harleen had nothing to justify how fast she’d fallen for him, for the way he had wrapped her around his fingers with his silver tongue, and even less for her lack of professionalism. She had wanted a story and she got it. Too bad she forgot all about the importance of her work the moment Joker had whispered a quiet _‘you know, doc, you’re the only one for me’_. It had turned her rational heart into a quivering mess, ready to go above and beyond for him. For love. Because that had been a confession that he loved her just like she’d secretly loved him, right?  
     It had been a convenient accident (accident…) that she’d left his cell door **unlocked**. The alarm hadn’t gone off until hours later, when a guard found the open door and an empty cell.

     Six days had gone by. Joker must have left Gotham, because Harleen hadn’t heard a thing about him other than that he had escaped, and if there weren’t big murders happening or other things to stir up the Gotham underworld while Joker was out there… then he was **gone**. Back to the shadows that he loved so much.  
     With her eyes on the red numbers of her alarm clock telling her it was 01:34 she just laid there in the dark, listening to the faint ticking of her watch on the nightstand and the soft noises of the city by night outside. She would’ve gotten a cat to keep her company if she hadn’t been so wrapped up in her work all the time, but right at that moment she was feeling lonely. Of course she was. She’d put everything she had on Joker, let him convince her that he’d come back for her, that she could become like him and that he could love her in ways only he could love someone. He would show her new _worlds_ , new _sensations_ and a new **life**.  
     But she was still here. _**Alone.**_ Gazing out her window hoping that she’d hear the fire escape creak until his beautiful, pale face appeared in front of her window.

     06:00 and a screeching alarm clock. Nothing again. It brought her down the moment Harleen rubbed her eyes, a headache pounding at her temples already. She got up, stretched, bathroom, brushed her hair… God, she looked like _shit_. The mirror showed dark circles under her eyes, cheeks drained from the lovely blush she usually sported.  
     “Harleen, you have to get your game together, girl,” she murmured, slapping her cheeks softly until they showed a bit of red. A towel was tugged off the shelf and she shed her ragged tee and panties, turning on the shower and waiting for the steam to wrap her up before she got into the cabin. It was hot, probably too hot, but she liked it like that. A quick rinse to wash away the knot in her stomach.  
     Fifteen minutes later she was finishing up her lipstick, a soft coral tone. Glasses on, and doctor Quinzel had entered the house. On her way out she grabbed a bun that would have to do as breakfast, and with her messenger bag under her arm and her teeth chomping down on the soft bread, she slammed the door shut behind her, locking it and rushing down to her car. Not like she’d be late, but she just… wanted to be there. In Arkham. Maybe he was back, maybe she’d missed the news.

     But no news.  
     “I know you were still working on your _book_ , Quinzel, but can’t you just make a chapter for this?” Of course it was meant as a joke, but it literally ruined her entire morning. She responded with a soft snarl, grumbling something about going to check up on her research before she escaped dr. Hansen’s teasing. Her office was neat and clean like always, and Harleen slumped into the chair behind her desk, peeking under it as if Joker would be hidden there. Stupid. Of course he wasn’t.

     The day crawled by, every minute seemingly taking an hour to pass, and Harleen barely even left her office, not even to have coffee with her colleagues or to eat lunch. It didn’t feel good to be there anymore. Her main concern had been Joker and his mental state and rehabilitation, and now that she no longer had his escapades to worry about, Arkham was just… **boring**. That was an idiotic thought because it was a mental asylum, it wasn’t there to be _**fun**_ , and Harleen knew that damn well, but still. Her Mister J had been a _spark_ in the darkness.

     After nine hours her shift was done. It felt like she’d been out there for a week at least, and everything went slow as she put her white coat back in her locker, pulled her hair free from the convenient ponytail it had been in. For just a moment she tugged on the corner of the Joker file between her books, as if that would somehow trigger something – but alas. The locker slammed closed again, and suddenly a small strip of paper fluttered through the air. She made a grab for it instantly, missed, and when it ended up on the floor she could already see what was on it: a smiley face and 0244 behind it. Her mind went on an immediate search for everything she could think of with the number 0244. For fifteen minutes straight Harleen stood there in silence, thinking, until a large hand smacked her on the back. Doctor Hansen.  
     “You still not out? Come on, Quinzel, _out_ with you! What… what’s that?” Harleen’s heart stopped when Mark picked up the bit of paper and looked at it, eyes going from the paper to his colleague and back. “You really shouldn’t let your pin wander around like that, you know. Never know what kind of _creep_ might get a hold of it. Now out, I’ll personally escort you if you’re not gone in five minutes.” He pressed the piece of paper into her hand, and with a wink left her to it. Harleen released a breath she didn’t know she had been holding.  
     _0244_. **0244**. A hotel room? Time? Code to open something? It wouldn’t be unlike Mister J to give her this now, and maybe something else later. She had to keep this. Or at least memorize it. It ended up in her wallet, tucked between her collection of little photos.


	2. wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just have to make sure you don't drink too much.

     She felt like a _ghost_ wandering through the supermarket. For only a moment she considered cooking something, _actually_ cooking something, but after a few glances at how much effort that would take her, Harleen decided against it. She threw instant lasagna in her basket along with a bottle of wine and a bag of gummy bears, giving the lady behind the counter a warning look before she mentioned it. It’d do for the evening, she probably wouldn’t finish the wine, maybe not even open it, but… you know.  
     In her car she tugged out the piece of paper again, held it up against the window as if it would show some sort of hidden message, but still nothing. What the hell was **0244** supposed to mean? In frustration Harleen threw the code through the car, but it merely fluttered around for a few moments, only to land back on her knee. Goddamnit.

     The lasagna only ended up half-eaten, the rest thrown away, and with her wine and a glass Harleen retreated to the bedroom. Pillows were fluffed up, blankets thrown back, and she kicked her heels off, turning on the TV against the wall and setting it on some nature channel. There was a documentary on about Yellowstone National Park and the wildlife there, good enough to keep her entertained until Harleen would fall asleep.  
     Two glasses of wine in, and her yawning had become so continuous that she could just about twist the lid on the bottle and put her glass aside before she had her nose buried in her pillow, snoring quietly.

* * *

 

     The late-morning sun woke her up, bright through windows where she had forgotten to close the curtains last night, and she stretched under the covers. A quick glance at her clock and she knew she had needed a good night’s sleep: 10:23 AM. A second of instant panic, **_work work work_** shooting through her mind, but a quick grab for her phone on the nightstand and a check on the date confirmed that she had the day off today. Thank god. She fell back into her pillow, rubbed her eyes slowly. _0244_. She could Google it, you know, just see what came up. Who knew what kind of wicked plan Mister J had thought up this time?  
     Her feet slid into her fluffy slippers when Harleen sat up and stretched her arms over her head. Her work clothes were neatly folded on the end of her bed, ready for laundry, shoes out of sight, probably somewhere in the hallway where she took them off. With a loud yawn she got up on her feet, shuffling to the bathroom. It was warm in there, always was in the morning, and it actually felt quite pleasant, seeing as Harleen was shuffling around in panties and a camisole – she should switch to full jammies sometime soon. Weather was getting colder. In the mirror she looked… well-rested. Better than the past weeks.  
     The shower was turned on, clothes were shed, and a sigh of relief passed her lips as she got under the stream. Obviously a relaxed, long sleep had worked wonders for her, as well as the knowledge that she had an entire day to herself. She could go for a run after her shower, read a book, meet up with a friend maybe… she could do anything. No obligations. How _nice_.

     Wrapped in a towel Harleen strolled through the apartment 45 minutes later, warmed up and comfortable, heading for the kitchen to make herself some coffee. In the sink were her glass from last night and the wine bottle, empty save for a thin layer of red wine on the bottom. Man, she… she didn’t even remember that she finished it, she must have been more than just tired and tipsy. Way to go, Harl, you have _one_ day off and you get **drunk** like a heartbroken teenager. She rolled her eyes at herself, rinsing the red lipstick off the glass before putting it in the dishwasher, and the bottle ended up in a plastic bag to be thrown out when she’d go to the store later.  
     The newspaper was surprisingly unsurprising (her good mood had unconsciously made her hopeful for news on Joker, but nope), but it did show that the weather today would be pretty good. Maybe she could take her neighbor’s dog if she was going out for a run anyway. Or not. Endless opportunities on a rare free day!  
     Her sports gear felt _foreign_ , like she hadn’t worn it in too long. Black and red, her favorite combination. Earphones in, keys in the small pouch hanging from her waist, and the door clicked into the lock behind her when she left the apartment.

     She ended up not taking her neighbour’s dog with her. Harleen’s running soundtrack was perfectly put together by her personal trainer several months ago, and she was loyal to it ever since, feet hitting the ground in a steady rhythm. The beat changed slightly with every song, forcing Harleen to change her pace accordingly, and the moment one of the slow songs started, she halted to do some stretches. God, she’d missed this. Just as she came back up straight, someone bumped shoulders with her. Not hard, and she smiled and apologized – her earphones completely muffling the _‘excuse me, doctor’_ that the tall figure replied to her before disappearing in the crowd again.  
     By the time her playlist came closer to an end she was on a steady walking pace, ponytail swinging, and she felt so immensely satisfied. Harleen had so much less time to spend like this since she was taking more shifts at Arkham, she was tired and too busy for it, and now that she did give herself the time for this, Harleen buzzed a little bit with regret. Maybe she should cut down on shifts. She didn’t even necessarily did it for the money, but it was because she knew she was one of the friendly faces in the asylum. She wasn’t just a doctor or a psychiatrist to a lot of the inmates and patients, but also someone they **_trusted_**. It came with the fact that she was a woman in a team that was mainly male-dominated, which was simply because there was a lot of _physicality_ in Arkham. Guards were attacked nearly every week, death wasn’t uncommon either – Arkham was **NOT** a safe place.

     Her keys jingled when she unlocked her door, and right before she could kick the door shut behind her, someone stopped it with their foot.  
     “Package for… miss Quinzel?” A friendly smile under a grey cap. “Sign here, please…” It was a small box, packed in neutral, brown, thick paper with her address on it and her name, and after she signed for it and the delivery boy tapped his cap before the door closed, she looked at it for a second. Her heartrate rocketed into the sky.  
     _She knew that handwriting._ It was Mister J’s. This package was either… okay, there was a **ninety percent chance** that this package would kill her if she opened it. But… he wouldn’t do that, right? _**No**_. Not to her.

     Paper tore, the box was taken to the kitchen so she could carefully cut the tape it was closed with, and when she opened it, she was greeted by a cheery little face.  
     A teddy bear. No… no, it was a small _monkey_ doll. Two buttons for eyes, a little purple bowler hat – it… it was adorable. Slowly Harleen took it out of the box, and around its neck was a ribbon with a small card.

_split lips are red_  
          _bruises are blue_  
          _you can run around like you don’t miss me_  
          _but i’m watching you_

     There seemed to be nothing weird about the doll, except that it wasn’t just a plushie, but she could slide her hand in, two fingers for its little hands and the rest in the slim space behind its happy face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A++ for anyone who knows where that monkey doll comes from!


End file.
